


Being soaked alone is cold

by rainbow_kitten_5



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Amnesia, Cold, Cold Weather, Dream is evil, Everything Hurts, Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Ghostbur, Mentioned Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Esteem Issues, beach party, forced optimism, no beta read we die like l'manberg, rain hurts ghostbur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:08:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28697451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbow_kitten_5/pseuds/rainbow_kitten_5
Summary: Dream tells Ghostbur to go off into the forest. They don’t need him ruining the beach party.Explores Ghostbur's perspective after Dream tells him to go out into the forest while it's raining to stop him from inviting people to Tommy's beach party.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 47





	Being soaked alone is cold

The wind whips around the trees like massive sharks floating through the forest. The rain crashes into him, biting and burning at his face relentlessly. Ghostbur cringes, holding back a cry. He was fine! He’s really fine! Everything’s fine!

Ghostbur wonders what Tommy must be doing now. He hopes the kid is having fun at his beach party. Ghostbur moves around another moss-covered tree trying to shrink into the wood to stop the rain from melting his unstable form. Ghostbur wishes he was at the beach, the warm sunny beach. Filled with laughter and burning sand. He’s so cold. He’s _always_ so cold. The cold is a part of him. He is the cold and the cold is him. It’s a heavyweight resting inside of his chest and spreading out across to his limp and numb fingers. Even if he was needed at the party it wouldn’t stop the cold. Even if he was boiling in lava it wouldn't stop the cold. It would never stop the freezing chill that bounds his unforgivable soul. Wasn’t hell supposed to be hot?

But he’s fine! He’s happy! He’s always happy! Tommy doesn’t need him at the party? He’s fine! He’s supposed to wander out into the forest while it’s raining even though he’s not sure why and the rain melts and bends him out of existence. He’s fine! Ghostbur is fine. Ghostbur is happy. He’s always happy. _Always._

Another gust of wind crashes into Ghostbur’s face and the ghost whimpers as cold spikes prink across him. Always cold. Always happy. Ghostbur ducks behind another tree as his face fades into the air, drifting away with the snow. When did it start snowing? Maybe it’s always been snowing? Maybe it never stopped? 

No, Ghostbur was sure it was raining just a moment ago. It hurt him. It scorched him. No, that’s not right. Nothing hurts him. Nothing has ever hurt him. He’s always happy.

A snowflake drifts through the branches of the tree Ghostbur is resting under and gently falls onto the ghost’s nose.

Finally, Ghostbur screams. His form ripples with unimaginable agony at the small contact. The coldness pluses and spreads across his every inch. It hurts. Blue liquid streams down Ghostbur’s face cutting into his soul. No, he can’t cry! No, please! It hurts! Crying hurts so much!

The solid blue tears don’t stop and Ghostbur wails harder. He stumbles what he thinks is forward and runs scrambling to get away from the sad. Sad. Sad. 

He’s back there again. It’s hot. The sun blazing down across his face, as sweat pools inside his revolutionary outfit. But he’s still cold, hollow. Arrows fly past as Tommy screams something unintelligible at him. He has to run. Run from his home. His home has abandoned him. 

He’s back there again. It’s cold. Drops of moisture hanging in the air around the ravine. He isn’t sure where he is. He’s scared. He’s alone. They’re coming for you. They’re coming for you. You can’t trust them. You can’t trust them. They’re lying! **They’re lying!**

You can’t save anyone. Couldn’t even save yourself.

Ghostbur’s vision swims. Where is he? Who is he running from now? Ghostbur can barely see his vision covered with a deep blue, only allowing him to make out blurry objects. Tree. Tree. Cold. Tree. Tree. Cold. Tree. Cold. Tree. Cabin. Tree. 

Cabin? Ghostbur halts ignoring the snow melting into him. A small cabin made of spruce wood and stone. The lights are on casting a warm yellow out across the glistening snow. Outside a man in a flowing baby blue cape that trails ripples in the wind along with his bright pink hair. It’s warm. Ghostbur is warm, warm, warm.

Blue cuts down Ghostbur’s face but doesn’t hurt as much. He’s not sad. He can see Techno, he can see shelter! Please...make him warm. 


End file.
